


Not The Hero They Want

by tielan



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Backstory, Childhood Abuse, Gen, Maria Hill is a BAMF, School Shootings, Trauma, unappreciated hero
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 12:12:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6906544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maria was on her way out of the library when she heard gunfire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not The Hero They Want

**Author's Note:**

> For the Maria Hill Comment Fic Fest ([Livejournal](http://tielan.livejournal.com/898869.html) | [Dreamwidth](http://tielan.dreamwidth.org/905096.html)). The requested prompt was _Maria, gen, she was sixteen the first time she saved the world (or at least her part of it)_.

Maria was on her way out of the library when she heard gunfire.  
  
Her first thought, confused and breathless, was, _God, not another senior prank._  
  
Her second thought, as her gaze tracked to the boy turning towards the glass doors with a machine gun in his hands was, _If it’s not a prank then I’m about to get dead._  
  
She wasn’t conscious of diving for the floor, but a moment later, her cheekbone hit dirty linoleum, the dust and grass tracked in from the lawn gritty against her cheek. There were cracks, two, three, many, lots. It began to rain glass, sharp shards tinkling around her, punctuated by wet splatter—  
  
_Oh God._  
  
She knew the scent of blood – mostly her own – but she was whole, no pain but the sting of glass and she wasn’t dead so—  
  
_—Janey’s got a gun—_  
  
There was screaming – lots of screaming. Really close by.  
  
She cracked one eye open and was visually assaulted by a knapsack lying less than a foot away with a rainbow unicorn painted vividly across it. Someone had been overdosing on their 80s cartoons, anyway. The flap had fallen open and a metal pencilcase was tilting drunkenly, spilling pens and pencils like a game of Pick-Up Sticks.  
  
_—whole world’s come undone—_  
  
The owner was screaming, maybe a yard away, maybe two, blood oozing between her fingers as she tried to scramble back from the figure striding up to the library doors and shooting the remainder of the glass center so he could just step through—  
  
_—everybody is on the run—_  
  
Later, the cops praised her presence of mind.  
  
In the moment, Maria was only thinking _something to slow him down_ —  
  
She tossed the pens and pencils under him as his foot came down. He slipped on the round, rolling cylinders, staggering in the screaming girl’s blood-spatter, going down on one knee.  
  
Maria lunged through the glass, toppling him backwards, shoving the gun away.  
  
She knew how to hit back. She just didn’t bother with her dad. Nobody noticed anyway. Besides, it wasn’t that bad – fists was better than being fucked, like Janey in the song.  
  
Her knuckles crunched against his nose. _Damien Winslow._ His eye. _Senior._ His other eye. _Always in black._ His mouth. _Plays those videogames with the shooting._ His mouth. _Thinks he should be big shit_. His mouth.  
  
His mouth.  
  
His mouth.  
  
The hand wielding the gun fell back to the floor, limp.  
  
And Maria stared down at the bruised and bloody mess she’d made of Damien Winslow, and managed to climb off and scrabble over to the wall. Then she set her back against the cold concrete and shook until the teachers came.  
  
The cops had questions, of course. They weren’t hard to answer, until they saw the bruises under her shirt. Those told their own story.

The tenor of their praise changed.  
  
_A hero,_ they said with their mouths. But their eyes said, _Not the hero we want._


End file.
